


morningstar honeydew

by okayantigone



Series: the early bird gets the boy - kandreil [1]
Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-12
Updated: 2018-02-12
Packaged: 2019-03-17 09:41:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13656381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/okayantigone/pseuds/okayantigone
Summary: andrew is used to wanting things, and not getting them. he doesn’t think kevin will be as outwardly stupid as to give another part of himself to yet another knife-edge happy short man with psychopathic tendencies.then again, kevin has always demonstrated a particular talent for stupidity. and then there's neil.





	morningstar honeydew

“it hurt,” kevin admits. his voice is steady, where he himself isn’t. “but not like you think it did.” 

andrew studies him carefully in the flashing lights of the club, the handsome lines of his haughty face brought into sharp focus, his eyes heavy lidded with alcohol and denial. the cast just came off, and kevin’s left hand is scarred and beautiful, clutching his vodka soda in an unflinching grip. 

they’re in columbia, to celebrate. allegedly. they’re in columbia because kevin day is unraveling at the seams of each thin white line tracing his knuckles, where they’ve been split apart, and then meticulously put together. 

“i don’t want to talk about it anymore,” he downs his drink. andrew studies the smooth line of his throat, watches his adam’s apple bob when he swallows, and imagines leaving an imprint on kevin day’s pale golden skin. the thought is sudden, and unwelcome, and he washes it down with the rest of nicky’s drink. his cousin is off on the dancefloor, grinding with someone. aaron is chatting with roland at the bar. just because all of andrew’s attention is on kevin, doesn’t mean he isn’t always trapped in a permanent awareness of where the rest of his charges are, orbiting around him. 

he knows kevin is attractive rationally. everyone with eyes can see it. but then he has to go and open his damn mouth, and andrew has to swallow the impulse for violence. there’s a part of him – small, and pathetic, that finds it flattering – that kevin day sees him as someone with potential. that kevin day sees him, period. but that is a part of andrew he doesn’t want to listen to at all. there is no room for weakness in andrew minyard’s life, and kevin day? kevin day is a major fucking weakness. 

“i want to dance,” kevin says. it’s always want with him. i want you to play well. i want the foxes to win. i want riko to pay. want, want, want. kevin is used to wanting – starvation is as familiar to him as it is to andrew. but unlike andrew, kevin is used to getting, and andrew can’t forgive him. 

sometimes he forgets – which is not easy, because andrew does not forget. sometimes, he stops remembering – that kevin was a prince too. but when they are like this – with kevin powerful in his vulnerability under eden’s flashing eyes, with his disdainful mouth curled over words that are as much invitation as they are an order, andrew can see how it might have been so easy for him to get, and get, and get. 

andrew is used to wanting things, and not getting them. he doesn’t think kevin will be as outwardly stupid as to give another part of himself to yet another knife-edge happy short man with psychopathic tendencies.  
then again, kevin has always demonstrated a particular talent for stupidity. 

andrew debates saying “go dance with nicky then.”

he doesn’t. instead, he slides off his high chair smoothly. “let’s go dance then.” he leans into kevin’s space, and kevin obligingly bows his head so andrew can whisper in his ear “keep your hands to yourself, it would be unfortunate to have them in a cast again.” 

maybe kevin is too drunk to be startled by the threat, because he simply nods. his eyes are hazy with something other than drink, when he breathes out a slurred “yes, andrew.” 

it is not at all surprising, that kevin day is beautiful in the daylight as well. if he knew how to keep his mouth shut more often, andrew might even like him. then again, he seems to have a particular penchant for chatty menaces to society who don’t know how to keep quiet unless gagged, neil being a spectacular case in point. 

watching neil’s scarred arms wrap around kevin’s middle, his boy still sleep-soft, red curls tousled, and messier than usual, his eyes bright under heavy lids, and his rose gold lashes, fine as fairy wings, andrew thinks really, he might be both stupid, and self-destructive. 

kevin rests his own scarred hand over neil’s, rubbing his knuckles, and sipping his sugarless coffee with single-minded determination. andrew hides his face behind the rim of his STABIGAIL MURDERYARD mug, because he isn’t sure he can handle looking at them for too long. the sweetness of the latte slides down his throat, and eases some of the sharp edges that have risen there, unbidden. 

kevin has long lost the fight against their state of the art coffee machine, and andrew’s penchant for coffee that doesn’t taste like straight up battery acid. 

neil maneouvers himself to one of the nar chairs surrounding the kitchen island, and pillows his head on his arms, still half asleep. “’drew,” he mumbles, “make me a coffee.” 

his technophobe tendencies run farther than phones, it would seem. andrew rolls his eyes. 

“i should let you faint from having low blood sugar,” he says, already moving to stand up. 

“but you won’t,” neil says lightly, utterly confident. “you like me.” 

“i hate you.” andrew is already popping the pod for a caramel macchiato in the machine, and choosing the settings. 

neil’s mug is orange, and obnoxious, and shaped like a grinning anime fox. just looking at its endearing round face pisses andrew off. 

he grabs the healthy cereal from the cupboard while he’s in that corner of the kitchen anyway, and pours it in kevin’s bowl, with a generous amount of almond milk. they hadn’t needed 20$ bone china bowls, but of course kevin day had to have the last word on everything. 

andrew pops a frozen waffle in the toaster, has a think about it, and puts a second one in as well. 

he brings neil’s coffee and kevin’s disgustingly bland breakfast. he runs his hand through neil’s strawberry curls, and neil purrs and leans into the touch like a cat. “you makin me a waffle too?” he asks, wrapping his graceful hands around the horrible round fox. “yeah,” andrew says. “not that you fucking deserve one.” neil sticks his tongue out at him, beautiful death wish of a boy. kevin shrugs, as if to say “don’t look at me”, as if andrew could bear to look away. somehow, he’s been trapped once again, by the unbearable wanting. somehow, he’s been ensnared by the part of the story, where he ends up getting it too.


End file.
